Peaceful Corruption
by Rhennan
Summary: Better isn't always less painful. After the Last Battle, Hermione and Harry leave a wartorn world for a new start. With a chance at another life, every hope for the first might be fulfilled but there is balance in everything. Will be xover with LotR.
1. Chapter 1

The feeling of decompression one normally got from Apparating was nothing compared to the sensation that met the travellers. It was like being shot out of a cannon – that was aimed at the ground. There was even the accompanying _bam_, instead of the usual _pop_ of apparation. But whatever noise was made upon hitting the ground, Hermione was unaware – in the midst of everything else, it failed to register, especially as there were several noises that sounded sickeningly like the crack and crunch of bones, and, even worse, she found herself unable to breathe right. Besides which, all the young Witch was willing to focus on was the feeling of her best friend beside her, the rough shape of Harry Potter, that most definitely _was_ still breathing. Whatever they'd done, and wherever they were, it hadn't been suicide. And, so long as he didn't die from his injuries, and the spell hadn't gone horribly wrong, she could be at peace with her own death.

Except that, the moment she started to relax, her breathing began to return to her. Her body felt almost to be _buzzing_, and her chest ached oddly – it took only a moment to recognize the all-too-familiar effects of having the breath knocked out of her. Hermione forced herself to breathe deeply, the blackness at the edges of her vision fading, and, with it, the disorientation. Slowly, not daring to move before she'd taken account of herself, Hermione checked her body. Nothing felt off, and nothing hurt – not _really_ hurt, anyhow, though there did seem to be a general ache across her right side. She waited only a few moments more before beginning to shift. The moment she rolled off her side and onto her back, however, pain shot up her right arm, blindingly.

Annoyed, more than anything (she had, after all, suffered more than enough injuries in the war to not be completely incapacitated by what was likely to be a broken arm) Hermione stared up at the sky as she allowed the pain to fade to a more manageable level. True, they could be in any situation at all, but if they'd been taken to "a place where they could find peace", there couldn't be _much_ immediate threat. Especially in a place so obviously _beautiful_. There were trees, overhead, painting her in dappled sunlight shining down from a clear, blue sky. It was Autumn, obviously, the leaves as often golden or red as green, and there was a slightly crisp feeling to the air, but it was far from uncomfortably cool. She turned her head, checking Harry – and found him looking back at her. The trees behind him suggested a forest, though it was impossible to tell how far they went. Then she realized that, more accurately, he was looking _past_ her, his eyes fixed on something. She panicked, for a moment – but there was no fear in his gaze. A sense of… awe, perhaps, though - even as he noticed her change of position, and focused instead on her.

"Hermione." He said, and there was a true smile on his face, for the first time since he'd lost his godfather to the veil four years before. "Look."

She turned, then, careful not to actually _move_, and to only shift her head – and then gasped. It was all she could do, really, for Harry and herself were atop a hill, at the edge of a wood – and the view now before her was amazing. The hill rolled down, green grass rippling in a slight breeze, into a sweeping valley that went, off to her right, as far as she could see. To the left, a mountain range rose up, gradually, a smallish patch of trees and a rather large structure of some kind – though it didn't really resemble a house so much as a rather humble temple for a group that loved or worshipped nature (and not gold) and a set of gardens - being nestled in the rolling foothills. Directly before her, the hill simply sloped downwards, going on for perhaps a mile, before ending in a river. A slight rumbling noise, that she hadn't even realized she was hearing, came from an incredible waterfall, which was crashing from a crack in the otherwise nearly vertical rock face that formed the rivers' opposite "bank", its water joining in what was obviously already a significant flow.

In all, it was a scene that drew her to _feel_ at peace, even if she had only been here a handful of minutes. No matter what else they encountered, the spell was worth it for _this_.

Harry made an odd, half-hiss-half-groan noise behind her, one that Hermione immediately recognized as his sound of pain. She spun around, sitting up in the process – and then had to fight down a wave of nausea, eyes clamped shut, as the pain from her arm hit. Very, very carefully, she adjusted her arm to rest on the relatively even surface of her thigh; the break was, obviously, in the lower part of her arm, though she'd broken both the radius and ulna. Fortunately, it wasn't a compound fracture, but it would be trouble enough until it healed, or she could find another healer – Harry couldn't mend bones, and Healing magic can't be worked on oneself.

Oddly, Harry started laughing, each sound oddly muffled and half-made.

Disgruntled, she opened her eyes – to discover Harry sitting oddly, leaning against a tree, but hunched over. His arms were clenched about himself, regarding her with an expression of both pain and amusement. "Nice fix we're in." He said, his voice, again, odd, and quiet.

Immediately falling into the long habits of a field medic, Hermione demanded "What hurts?"

"Ribs, I'm pretty sure."

Muttering, Hermione reached for her wand with her left hand. Except that, what she came away with was about half a wand: it had been in a wrist holster, and, obviously, snapped with her arm. Trying not to shift too much, and jostle her arm, she tried for the spare she'd brought, in the ankle holster – except that it was missing. "Damn."

"What?" Harry asked.

"My wand is broken… and my spare's gone. Check yours."

"Mine are fine, Hermione. Both are, actually. What do you need?"

Sighing, she contemplated. While she could work _some_ magic with Harry's wand, there wasn't a great deal she could do – they weren't terribly compatible. "Toss me your spare?" She questioned.

The Ebony and Basilisk Fang – an odd combination, to be certain, and worth an almost unimaginable amount of money, just for the core – wand was flipped lightly in her direction. Hermione, nervous about losing another wand in an unknown place, deftly caught it with her left hand, even though she had to disturb her injured arm a bit to do so. Not allowing herself the time to think about it, she bound and set the arm (because the magic was done by outside influence, and not internally, it was magic that used a wand, and that the caster could perform on themselves), a choked hiss the only evidence of the pain involved. That settled, she shuffled awkwardly in Harry's direction. Placing both palms on his chest was still an awkward venture, considering her casted arm, and he winced at her much-less-gentle-than-normal touch. Closing her eyes, Hermione lost herself from the world, sending her thoughts out through her fingertips with her magic, as she had been trained. She examined the damage, and then slowly began to heal her companion, shifting bone back into place, holding it there with Harry's own magic, as she healed the bruised tissues in his body. His pain became her own, as she worked, but in this place it simply _was_, one didn't cry out, or flinch away.

By the time she had returned to the broken ribs, Harry's magic, far more used to such things than anyone's had right to be, had already begun to speed the mend. Hermione added just enough to ensure it would remain stable, and then gently withdrew. After the incredible amount of magic she had used already in the day, the healing had very nearly been too much. As careful as she could be, Hermione settled back to the ground, this time propping herself against Harry.

"Thanks." He said.

"No problem." Hermione replied, closing her eyes. " 'm tired, though."

Harry laughed – and this time, it was the deep, gentle sound she was used to. "Sleep, then, Hermione. I think we're safe enough here."

Colors flashed, and she could tell, even with her eyes closed, that Harry had put up noise-muffling (it would only keep soft sounds on their part muffled, but had an advantage over a silencing charm in that it didn't at all muffle the sounds outside it) and notice-me-not charms, and summoned their gear from wherever it had landed. She heard the unmistakable sound of the zippers on the packs, and could tell Harry was rifling through them. Hermione was entirely too sleepy to protest the disorganization he was inflicting upon her packing, and, frankly, glad that he was checking to see if anything else was damaged. She fell asleep to the sound of him sorting through their possessions.

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It was night when she woke again, startled into awareness when someone tripped over her, landing sprawled in her lap, and jostling her arm in the process – and she couldn't bite back the startled yelp of pain and surprise.

The man scrambled up, and called out something she couldn't quite make out. Immediately, though, the "safe" feeling that had surrounded her that afternoon – and that had, quite frankly, still been present when she'd first awoken – disappeared. In the darkness, she could make out several shadowed forms, now forming a circle around where the two travelers sat. The nearest ones were wielding weapons, though she wasn't absolutely sure what they were – her guess, though, from the way they were holding them, was bows.

A deep, demanding voice, called out in the night – but Hermione didn't have any idea what the man had said.

Speaking soft enough for the spell to muffle, she called out "Harry?"

"I'm awake, Hermione." He returned, equally quietly. "What should we do?"

The voice called out a second time, the sentence longer, and with an edge of challenge in it.

"I don't know, really, but I rather think we should talk to them."

"And if they shoot us?" Harry asked, incredulity showing through, even in a whisper.

"Well, then they shoot us, I'd guess." Hermione replied. Harry snorted – softly, of course.

The voice called out again, except that, from the change in accent, it appeared to be in a different language, one that was far harsher than the first.

"Harry, really – he's giving us a chance to answer. If they all shot now, they'd hit us anyhow – I have a feeling they can see past the notice-me-not, now that they know something's here. If he's willing to try different languages, then I don't think he's likely to shoot us on sight. Please, let me try."

Harry didn't respond, but he let up the notice-me-not spells, and the silencing spell. Hermione stood, and, immediately, her guess of weapon was confirmed, as a _hiss_ing noise accompanied the drawing of bows.

As gently and non-threateningly as possible Hermione said, "I can't understand you. Do you speak my language?"

The figure before her shifted, and huffed a sigh. Another string of something unintelligible passed his lips. The surrounding archers shifted, replacing their arrows, but not fully relaxing.

Then, he tried again, in another language.

And so it went. Hermione tried Latin, French, German, Spanish, Arabic, and Mandarin; as well as Japanese, Greek, and Russian, of which she only knew the briefest phrases. For every one she tried, though, the figure before her attempted one as well (or, at least, it seemed that way). Coming to the end of her capabilities, she fell silent. The man before her attempted at least five more languages, before, obviously, giving up as well. He could, obviously, see much better in the dark than she could, for he motioned Harry to stand, and then for both of them to take their packs (which it took he and Hermione a moment to figure out), and then to come with them. The group organized itself into a sort of a line, with Harry and Hermione at the center, and they proceeded across the field in the direction of the temple-like structure.

Though she saw no source of illumination, the grounds surrounding the temple seemed to become increasingly light, and the building itself seemed lit as though by a floodlight – or perhaps a hundred. Except that the light was not nearly so harsh – it had an odd cast to it – a cool cast, that reminded her most of the occasion upon which she'd actually worn rose-colored glasses for a few days, giving the world a look that was, oddly, not red at all, but… simply different. As they came closer, she realized that the building, though large by itself, was but one member of a whole community, the rest perched in the greener parts of the opposing cliff faces. Several people could be seen moving about those buildings – if "building" was truly the right word, for all but the "temple"-and she was becoming less sure of that designation the nearer they approached- were of a flowing structure that seemed almost entirely natural. In all, Hermione could easily see how they could find peace in a place such as this – if, of course, they could get past the language barrier, and manage not to be killed for trespassing, or whatever it was they had done that had this group upset to begin with.

As they came upon a large room, in the building, with a large, ornate chair at the far end, Hermione revised her estimation of the building to _Palace_. This seemed to suit it better all around – though it seemed very much too simple, and too… humble, for such a term, as though this fellow, though having a great appreciation for beauty, felt no real need to impress his greatness upon anyone. And it was with this thought in mind that she approached, feeling very much encouraged.

Which was why, even as she met his gaze, she was completely unprepared for the man to use Legillimency upon her. It was only half a second before she could mentally block him, but it startled her into a dueling stance, wand in hand, before she could even take the time to contemplate the ramifications. Harry, sensing her move, had copied her stance in the blink of an eye – but so had every other person in the room – swords were unsheathed, bows drawn, and everything was quite tense.

"He's a Legillimens" Hermione said, answering the unspoken question in Harry's gaze. His countenance became grimmer, then, and the look in his eyes changed, to one she recognized as that of a person Occluding.

Neither of them moved, though, even as their captors did not, each waiting for the next move on the other's part. They stood, tense and ready, eyes taking in everything but focusing upon nothing.

Moving slowly, the man at the head of the room gave a signal. Hermione and Harry both tensed, but nothing happened. Then, one of the individuals behind them, most likely the fellow they had tried to speak with earlier, walked past them and approached the "king" – also, very slowly. He bowed, then began speaking rapidly. After a moment, the "king" spoke again, in obvious command, and all the weapons about the room were stowed. He then turned his eyes on the two in the middle of the room, waiting, but not demanding. In silent agreement, both put away their wands, and stood normally once again. The king approached them – very slowly, hands open, palms up.

Surprisingly, he bowed. A phrase left his lips that could only have been an apology – it seemed to paint the feeling in Hermione's mind, if there was any such way to describe it. Then, just as slowly, he raised a hand – and simply tapped his head with one finger, asking what was, just as obviously, a question.

"I think he's asking permission to read my mind. I'm guessing he thinks it's the only way we can communicate." Hermione said, quietly, not moving much.

"I'm pretty sure you're right. And that he's right, come to that."

"Should I?" Hermione asked.

"Better you than me. My recent thoughts are a bit… scary, Hermione."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione nodded, slowly, and then relaxed the control of her own thoughts.

Much more slowly, this time, the presence entered her mind. It very slowly examined the last few minutes, obviously sorting out exactly what she'd been thinking, moment by moment. He stopped, and Hermione could feel his surprise, when he came to the moments where they drew their wands. And then he proceeded, through their day – almost as slowly as if it had been in real time – which was possible, as she hadn't been awake for most of it, up until he got to the moment where they arrived. He went a little further, until he followed her back through the apparation – where he gave off a feeling of _so much _shock, that she didn't know what to do with it. And then he replayed it, several times.

And then, at least an hour after beginning – though time is impossible to measure inside of one's own thoughts - in an utter shock to Hermione, a soft voice spoke, sounding out the words carefully in her head. "You have… found… what you… seeke-sought. You are… safe. Peaceful. Here. Wizard-woman."

Amazed, Hermione found herself speaking out loud in response. "How did you do that?"

Oddly, Hermione found herself in the memory of herself asking the question – which only confused her more. The man was very… surprised. "How many… years …mark … your life?"

"Twenty-One." Hermione responded, thinking the question odd. True, she was young, especially for a witch, and, yes, she knew rather a lot for her age – and lets not forget that the War must have aged her some, in face and in action - but, still, she had to look something like the age that she was.

The King was even more surprised – astonished might have been more like it. But he smiled in her mind, then, and she could feel it. "A child. Do you… want… to … learn? We will … teach – teach mind, and … language, and many… other."

It was likely she didn't need to say anything, as, being in her mind and all, he could likely feel her joy at such a suggestion – to learn again, and simply for the sake of learning! No war, no pressures, just learning for the sheer joy of it. Still, she answered resoundingly "Yes! Very much!"

"Good." He said, and withdrew from her mind. He was smiling at her, then, on the outside.

Hermione turned to her companion, who was studying her intently. "Harry! Oh, Harry, he says we can stay! And that we'll find peace, here, and rest!"

This time, Harry's smile sparkled in his eyes. "I was hoping you would say that."

She turned back to the King, grinning, and he, taking this for affirmation, turned his head slightly, and began speaking to one of those that waited at the edges of the room.

And it was then that Hermione realized that his ears, well – they were pointed. And, looking around the room, everyone else's ears were pointed, too.

The King must have heard her sharp intake of breath, for he looked back to her. At her expression, he tapped at his head again, the question clear in his eyes.

Nodding, though concerned, she saw again the previous few moments, and was broken from her worry by a feeling that was, undeniably, _you only just now noticed?_ Amusement colored her own thoughts for a moment – his amusement, intentionally projected, though it was very obviously… un-condescending.

A sharp bark of laughter echoed, as her vision refocused upon the world, and the… not-man… shouted something to all his companions, who joined in the laughter. Fortunately, though, it seemed to have broken the ice entirely – Hermione and Harry were ushered off after a servant, the atmosphere around them once more radiating the peace they had felt when they'd first seen the place they had found. Hermione couldn't be upset with her mistake, or worried what it meant – they had found peace, they had found… _home_. It was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight warmed the plains of his face, glowing warm even behind his eyelids. Restfulness and an odd sensation suffused him, almost like waking from a drugged sleep. Harry was awake in an instant, eyes wide and staring even before he was aware enough to see through them; but nothing was in that room with him but the sunlight and the furniture, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He had hardly expected their plan to work, but here he was; nestled beneath the light, warm comforter that seemed a representation of his new world, all on its own. Soft and warm, but made of some cloth that kept it from the over-heaviness he would have expected; he had not felt such luxury – well, ever, that he could remember. It was secure here; peaceful, gentle morning sunlight dancing across rich light woods of a dressing closet and a desk.

The carving of the furniture was intricate, and his bed, though a four-poster, was unlike anything he had seen, even at Hogwarts. The place felt every bit as magical as the castle he called home, but it was a different sort of magic. This magic was a living, breathing sort; something that worked in harmony with the world and not outside of it. It was the sort of magic of a new spring day when you forgot everything but the sun on your skin and the brush of the wind; the magic of wordless joy in something simple, of a song that made you cry tears of joy sung in a language you didn't know. Harry breathed it in, and slid out of bed slowly, savoring the movement.

He caught sight of himself in a full-length mirror off to the side, and stared for long minutes. He didn't even look like himself; he was so very much older than the last time he'd really _looked_ in a mirror. Too thin. Too stressed.

He hadn't thought to survive the war, not in years, but he found himself suddenly quite glad that he had done so. The stone floor was cool under his feet, but not cold like the stone of Hogwarts. He moved to the dressing closet, and found himself satisfied that both his old clothes and a few sets of new awaited him. In a decided motion, he slid the wand and holster from his wrist for the first moments in recent memory, and dumped them into the bottom of the wardrobe. He would find a place for them later, but for now, he neither needed nor wanted a weapon near his skin. His second holster joined it a moment later, and a trio of daggers with their strange skin-tight harnesses followed after.

He frowned a moment at the clothes left for him. Tunic and leggings weren't anything he'd ever worn, but wearing wizard's robes for the first time had been more awkward than this could possibly be. He almost tripped himself tugging the leggings on, before deciding to borrow the desk chair for aid, but the shirt and tunic were easy enough. Dressed, he studied himself in the mirror; he was still missing something. The others last night had been wearing weapons, but it was something else that he was missing. Something obvious…

His brain supplied the image a moment later; he was missing a belt.

There wasn't a belt hanging in the wardrobe, nor in either of the deep, empty drawers below it. The desk drawers yielded quill and parchment and ink, but no belt. He frowned at the room around him, before finally noticing that what he'd taken for a wall decoration was actually a set of belts. But they were all far, far too long, and lacked a buckle. Taking one down, he stared at it. It had a metal loop at one end, but nothing to secure the tail of the belt to. And he hadn't been paying enough attention last night to know what to do with it.

Unhappy at the forced choice, he retrieved his own belt from the pile of his clothes. Harry hooked it around his waist, and stared again at his reflection in the mirror. It wasn't quite right, but it would have to do.

Then, a moment later, he decided against it. He wanted to fit in, in this world. He wanted to be one of its people, as much as he could. He grabbed one of the new belts, the shortest one, of a light brown leather and delicately tooled with images that were eagles but somehow looked more like phoenixes to him, and slung it over his shoulder.

Decided, he marched for the door.

Surprisingly, he was met at the other side by a man who looked about his age, looking like he was just about to knock.

They stared at each other a long moment, taking in appearance. Harry noticed the guy was tall and dark-haired, with hair as long as Bill's had been.

"Hi". Harry said, awkwardly. He knew the other guy wouldn't understand him, but he couldn't just say nothing.

A smile and a foreign response met him. Shifting from foot to foot, Harry shrugged his lack of understanding. A long moment passed, and then Harry pointed at himself "Harry."

"Galladin." Said the other, pointing at himself.

"Hello Galladin." Harry said, feeling odd but needing to speak. "I wonder if you could help me figure out my belt?"

Galladin cocked his head to the side, questioning.

Harry held up the belt, gesturing. "I don't really know how to put this on." He said with a helpless shrug, "And mine works completely different," He gestured at his own belt, tugging at it, and hoping the guy got the right message.

Galladin's brows met in a frown, and he asked a question.

Harry sighed. He ran the new belt around his waist, and threaded it through the loop in a copy of his own. Then he pointed between the two, making the motions he would normally make to fasten his belt, and indicating the lack of notches or the pin-thing that would keep the belt on. He gave a pleading look at Galladin, and a helpless shrug, and hoped his companion got the message.

Galladin studied him for a moment more, a strange look on his face. And then he broke, and threw his head back with laughter.

Harry blushed. "Nevermind. I'll just wear mine; it's not important." And he turned to go back into his room. The laughter broke off, and a warm, firm hand on his shoulder stopped him, and turned him back around.

Galladin was still smiling at him, but he shook his head, and then dropped his hand from Harry's shoulder. He reached for his own belt, then, and undid it swiftly, and then carefully demonstrated watching Harry to make sure he was following. He looped the leather through the ring, then tucked it around the belt and tied it into a knot, leaving the remainder to hang freely.

Frowning, Harry tried the same, but he did it wrong the first time, and Gilladin showed him again. Once he had it right, Harry did it an extra time to make sure it wasn't any more complicated than that. Then he unbuckled his old belt, and slid it from his waist. Looking up, he grinned at his new companion.

Galladin grinned back, and gestured off down the hall. It was Harry's turn to look confused. Galladin chuckled, and made eating motions – it took a moment, but Harry finally understood the other man had been sent to fetch him to a meal. Nodding, Harry held up a hand and one finger, hoping the sign for "just a second" was universal. Apparently it was, as Galladin didn't try to stop him when he retreated to his room and chucked the belt back into the wardrobe, and was still waiting when he returned to the corridor.

Delighted to have solved the first problem he'd come across in his new world – and to have nothing more pressing to worry about than whether or not he'd be wearing the right sort of belt – Harry followed the man to Breakfast.

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­­­­­­­­­­­­"Good morning, young mage." The king spoke, as Harry entered the dining hall.

Harry about jumped out of his skin. "You can speak my language!" Harry said, surprised.

The man stared at him for a long moment, then tapped the side of his head. Permission for Legillimency again, Harry decided. He sat, first, at the seat indicated, and then nodded, lowering his shields.

A brief rustle through his memories, and then a voice in his mind. _No, I fear that I cannot, not fully. I am well-gifted with language, and I studied for many hours the memories I saw in your companion's mind. I hoped a familiar greeting would help to put you at ease._

"It has." Harry said, smiling even as his vision faded between the waking world and his own mind. "Thanks for doing that. It helps. But I really do want to learn your language. I'm, ah, not so good at that sort of thing, though."

_We shall teach you. Don't let your friend's eagerness to learn convince you that you are incapable simply because knowledge does not fascinate you as it does she._

"Is Hermione alright?" Harry asked, though for all he knew, she might be in the room with them.

_Your friend still sleeps. The journey was much more draining on her magic than yours. Though you have been asleep fully two days, young mage._

"Two days?!" Harry exclaimed. "I – well, I didn't know I was that tired, I guess. Um, thanks for letting me sleep. And letting me stay here. And, er, Hermione. And – is it even breakfast, then?" Harry asked, immediately feeling like an idiot afterwards, as the king chuckled in his mind.

_No, do not feel ashamed. It is lunch, in fact, but your rest was much needed. Your friend will wake as well, in time_.

That sounded ominous to Harry, and he voiced his concern. "Is she going to sleep that much longer?" The sigh in Harry's mind was sad, and made him wonder how old the king was. The man didn't look old, really, but there was this _feeling_ in his thoughts, that seemed as old as the earth itself.

_Not quite that old, young mage._

Harry snorted, and then, weirded out by formal title being used in his head, said "Call me Harry, please. Er, sire."

_Call me Elrond, not sire._ The voice returned, laughingly. _And your friend will sleep only a little longer, perhaps another day. Her worry that she will bring the taint of her old world with her, and the guard she has set in her mind against such, keeps her from resting as deeply as she might._

Harry felt guilty, at that. He hadn't spared a second thought to Hermione's worries; and she was right, often enough.

_There is no need to borrow such trouble. Our world has its own darkness, though it has been long since we have battled against it. Live, and enjoy life while you may, Harry._

That made sense. Harry decided he'd say as much to Hermione when she woke.

_I wouldn't do that, either._ Returned Elrond. _Your friend's way is not without merit; we must ever guard our souls against the peril of darkness. But each of us must do what tasks we are given to do. Your tasks are completed, for the moment, and now is your time for rest._

"And Hermione?"

_Something within me tells me she must make her own path, Harry, whatever it may be. Rest is for her, yes, but not only rest. Whether she would wish it or not, her soul craves its own work yet, while yours is content._

Harry wasn't exactly sure what that meant. It sounded awfully profound, but at the same time, it didn't make any sense at all.

Elrond's laughter echoed aloud, this time. _Never mind, mage Harry. Sit, enjoy your lunch, and have your rest. You have done a great thing, and risked much; and though the world you saved is not our own, we will honor you as your choices and actions deserve. You are free to stay in my house for as long as your will is content here – be it days or months or all the years of your life._

Harry was amazed. Talk about hospitality. "Hermione too?"

_Hermione as well._

"One last question, if it's ok." Harry said.

_Ask_.

"Why do you keep calling me 'mage'? Not that it really bothers me, or that I'm not really thankful for everything. But… I'm a wizard, at least so far as I know." Harry felt a momentary panic that his magic wouldn't work in this world, but he stuffed it down in wait for his answer.

_Ah. That is because we have Wizards here, though very, very few of them. And their skill is much different from your own._ Elrond smiled, both in life and in Harry's mind. _And your skill works well enough, yet. If your mind magics are not enough to convince you, then test some small magic – but be wary, for while my people are used to some kinds of magic, others may worry them._

Harry nodded, and thought for a moment. His eyes caught sight of a candle in a candleholder on the wall across the room. Slightly nervous, he brought out just a bit of wandless power. The candle lit. Harry relaxed, and then snuffed the flame with magic with almost no effort of his own.

_A good choice_. The voice confirmed in his mind.

Suddenly excited by what Elrond had said, Harry burst out with "So, these wizards you have – what is it they do that's so different from us?"

"That, we shall see very shortly, and in full." A voice answered him, aloud.

Harry spun in his chair. A man as old as Dumbledore stood behind him, long grey beard and all. Harry almost choked on his grief for his lost mentor, though this man bore him no resemblance. It was a long moment that the figure swam in his vision, that the world seemed to shift about him, before Harry regained mastery of himself.

"Who are you?" He asked, instead, his voice showing little of his distress.

"I am Gandalf, young mage. And I was called here by the pull of the great magic of your travel, and sought council with Elrond while you slept."

"And you're a wizard?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I am, most certainly, a wizard."

"So… " Harry almost stopped himself, wondering if the question was somehow rude, then shrugged. "What can you do?"

Gandalf smiled at him. "Talk to you, for one."

And then Harry realized they'd been conversing in English. His eyes went wide. "Oh. Um, wow. Is that… I mean, did you take a potion or something? I think I remember there being one for knowing other languages."

"Potion?" Gandalf questioned, the word obviously foreign to him. "A draught? No, I took no 'potion'. It is simply one of my skills."

Harry grinned. "Well, I'm glad it is, then. I wasn't really sure I'd be able to learn a new language without someone telling me what the words meant, in my own."

Gandalf smiled at him. "I shall be happy to teach you elvish, among many other things. And I imagine I shall learn much about you, as well. But first, you should eat some lunch."

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They were standing outside; Harry, Elrond, Gandalf, and a small company of guards. The guards were at the edges of a large clearing, and the other three stood in the center of it.

Harry hadn't been completely thrilled to be retrieving his wand again so soon, but Elrond was being so nice about everything, that he figured it would have been really childish to refuse. He left all the rest of his equipment in his room, though; in a further removal from his old life, he strapped his wand holster outside of his light shirt, out where anyone who looked could see it. If he'd been able to find a convenient place for it, he wouldn't have worn a holster at all.

"Alright, young Harry. You needn't over-tax yourself, but I'd like a feel for what you're capable of." Gandalf said.

"Um… well, what do you want me to do?" Harry responded.

"I am here to learn what you can do, Harry." Gandalf returned. Then, a moment later. "But you seek guidance; I shall offer what I can. Can you light a fire, as you lit the candle in the dining hall?"

Harry smiled, and holstered his wand. He called blue flame to his hand, and a fist-sized ball burned brightly in the span of a thought.

"Ah. I see. And can you make other things as well – say, as much water, or earth?"

Harry shifted his will, and was holding a handful of earth. He thought a moment before conjuring water, and conjured it in a glass.

Gandalf's eyebrow twitched, lightly, and Harry felt that this was about as much true surprise as the man had shown in a very long time. "I see. So it is not only elements you can create."

"Conjure." Harry corrected, then ducked his head and stared at the ground. Of all the times for his inner Hermione to make itself known. "I didn't mean to correct you, sir."

"Not to worry, my boy. Not to worry; it is, indeed, I who am learning, and you who are teaching, at this moment."

Harry hadn't been called "my boy" since Dumbledore had died. Though Gandalf didn't project an air of "foolish old man", and seemed to go about things with a straightforward practicality, he bore just enough resemblance to Harry's old mentor to be painful. He ruthlessly shoved the ache away, though, and brought his eyes back up. "Alright. What else, then?"

"How big of an item can you make?" Gandalf frowned. "Or, rather, how is this skill limited."

"Well, size is a limit, yeah. But not as much. It sort of depends, too, on whether I'm bringing something here or actually making it."

Gandalf paused, and then conversed for a moment with Elrond. "How do you mean?"

"Well, say you wanted a really big pile of dirt, right here." Harry waved in front of him. "I could put enough dirt in this field to fill the whole thing a couple feet deep, but I'd be bringing it from other places – I could focus it on a single place, or, with something like dirt, I can just sort of _put_ it here, and, I dunno, magic decides where it would come from, or something. Hermione would be able to say exactly how."

"But you said you can create things, as well."

"I can – but I couldn't make nearly that much of anything. I could only make, a single thing comfortably, though size still isn't much of an object for me, although it would be for any other wizard."

"You have more power than is usual, then?"

"Yeah. I, um, the dark wizard I killed. I got some of his power when I was a baby, and most of the rest of it in… well, later."

"So your friend Hermione?"

"She could make things with more detail easier than me, and probably make more things at once, if they were small. Size of the thing you're making takes magical power. Detail takes… well, focus. Knowledge. Smarts. Stuff like that."

"But either of you could make – a chair? A sword? Anything like that."

"Yeah. Sure." Harry smiled, and, in a copy of his bed that morning, he made one appear, in the middle of the field. Right down to the tousled down-like cover.

He didn't miss the sharp intakes of breath from the waiting guards, but they didn't say anything, either. For that much, Harry was grateful.

Elrond and Gandalf merely walked in a circle around it. Elrond exclaimed at something, and Gandalf joined him, they were pointing at the far side of the bed, and speaking back and forth very quickly.

"Harry, could you explain this?" Gandalf asked.

Harry walked around to the far side of the bed, only to discover that, there, the intricate carvings that were across the rest of the bed could no longer be seen. The wood was plain, if still solid. The blanket just … stopped, at the edge of his bed. And the mattress had a normal, modern box-spring below it, that probably wasn't the sort of thing to exist in this time.

Harry blushed. "Oh. Um, well, that's what I meant about complexity."

Gandalf fixed his eyes on Harry, who felt as though he were being looked _through_ instead of _at_.

"It makes itself after whatever image I hold in my head. If my image is incomplete, or wrong, it'll still make like that."

"What if you were to conjure a living being?" Gandalf said, a quiet fear in his voice.

"Oh! No, no, you can't do that. Well, you can, but it's black magic, and they're not really "living". No, nobody can do that."

Gandalf sighed. "Do not worry so much, Harry. We will not judge you. Though I will admit my relief at what you have said – some magics are too great to be wielded by any being."

Harry only nodded at that. Things like dementors were what happened when wizards tried to make living things.

"So, the smooth wood, and this odd… under-bed; they were in your mind?"

"Yeah. The box spring – that's the thing under the bed – is what we use in my world. I suppose you don't use them here, but I just sort of _assumed_, even without really thinking about it. Hermione would have done better."

"How so?"

"She does really well with this sort of thing. All of the details seem to just _stay_ in her head at the same time. The first time I tried to make a chair, it didn't have any legs."

Obviously, Gandalf was still thinking of animals, as he winced.

There was a long pause, while he conferred with Elrond.

Harry waited pretty patiently, and, after a bit, banished the bed.

Both of the men jumped a bit, though there was no sharp breath from their watchers, this time.

"Why did you do that?" Gandalf asked, and then, interrupted by a question from Elrond, translated, "And where did it go?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "I don't really know where it went. Nowhere, I guess. And I did that because it's a drain on my magic to leave something like that just sitting."

"Is it? So it uses magic to keep its existence?"

"Yeah, something like that. Hermione'd be better at the theory stuff – and could probably tell you where things go when they're banished. But conjured stuff uses magic for as long as you keep it around. Most wizards and witches –"

Gandalf breathed in sharply.

"What? What did I say? I know I'm not a wizard the way you are, but –"

"No, it isn't that. But please, never refer to 'witches' in this world. The word has an ill meaning."

"Well, then what do you call female wizards?" Harry asked.

Gandalf smiled. "There aren't any."

Harry looked at him, shocked. "Well, then…" He half-choked on his words, but said them anyway. "How do you get more wizards?"

Gandalf laughed. His eyes sparkled, and he broke from his amusement only long enough to translate for a curious Elrond. Who, of course, joined in the laughter.

Harry was blushing horribly, and rather wished he'd kept the bed around, so he could stare at something other than the ground or one of the trying-not-to-smile guards at the perimeter of the field.

"We don't, young mage."

"You, er… don't? Well, then –" Harry broke off, not really wanting to start another round of amusement at his expense, but unwilling to leave the question left unasked. "How did you get here?"

"I? I was not born, Harry, not like you were. I have… for lack of a better way to say it, I and my brothers have always been. There are very few of us – only three have any importance to the world in this age of middle earth."

"Oh." Harry said. "Wow, you're old." Then he clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn't said anything that stupid in at least… well, at least a couple weeks, anyhow.

"I am, indeed. But that is neither here nor there. The point we were settling was the matter of witches." Gandalf was once more very serious. "Witches, here, are those who use their powers for ill. Your friend, when she awakes, shall be a mage like yourself. And any children either of you have, whom also inherit your power, may take that name as well."

Harry nodded, thinking. "Alright. That makes sense. I'll try not to call her a witch, though it'll be hard."

"I believe you were explaining the relative levels of power needed to maintain a… conjuring."

"Oh, yeah." Harry responded, then, trying to remember what little theory Hermione had drilled into his head in school lessons that seemed as though they'd been an age ago, in that time before the war, Harry began to explain.


End file.
